


Into the Open Air

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Handcuffs, Multi, but not in that way, set somewhere not in Willoughby, sometime after Bass has come to town, sometimes serious sometimes kinda ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles, Rachel and Bass wake up handcuffed together in the middle of nowhere. Set at a non-specific point in season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miles

Miles blinked his eyes open. Black to a blinding white. He squeezed them shut again, then cocked one open slowly. He tilted his head to the left and found tree tops creep into view. Clouds. The white was clouds. Then trees, bushes, rocks and dirt. He was lying in the dirt.

Miles went to bring his right hand to his head. It was bulky and he stopped at a tight pinch. He rolled his head the other way.

His hand was connected to another hand which ended an arm which belonged to Rachel.

Her eyes were closed and blonde curls spread out across the ground. He noticed that her other arm was bent at an awkward angle. Miles pushed himself up to follow the curve of it to the body on the other side of her.

Neither was awake, otherwise Miles was sure Bass’ hand wouldn’t be resting on Rachel’s waist. Miles took a minute to inhale deeply and scanned the area.

Yes, he was in the middle of a clearing in a forest handcuffed to Rachel handcuffed to Bass.

He was glad they both were blissfully unaware at the moment, because he was mentally calculating the slim odds of them not killing each other. Whether Rachel killed Bass, or Miles offed Bass, or Rachel had had it with Miles and pushed him off a cliff or Bass hurt Rachel again to hurt Miles—any and all ways he was pretty sure that the wilderness wouldn’t need to do much work.

Bass came to first.

Miles was fairly certain that was a good thing. Maybe. At least it wouldn’t be Rachel asking him to help bash his best friend’s face in with a rock. He could protect Rachel from Bass, but probably not Bass from her and Miles wasn’t quite sure how that made him feel except queasy and guilty.

He watched Bass go through the same process he had and finally spoke as Bass figured out the situation. Bass sat up slowly.

“I dunno either,” Miles told him.

Bass’ eyes flickered to Rachel.

“She okay?”

“If we were drugged could be there’s more in her system to wear off,” Miles answered, “She’s slightly smaller.”

He didn’t know if he was talking nonsense or not. While her waking up meant that they’d have to deal with her, it also meant that they both would breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that she _would_ wake up.

“Who dragged us out here?” pondered Bass, eyes locked on Rachel, “It would take man power to get us to—well, wherever the hell we are.” His eyes finally parted from her and he scanned the landscape, “Judging by the trees and rocks, I don’t think we’re in Texas anymore, Toto. Last thing I remember was heading off to get some fresh air just as it was getting dark. Then black, nothing.”

Miles didn’t respond.

“Miles?”

“Are we really doing this, right now?”

“What?”

“Being friendly.”

“We can work shit out later, Miles. Right now it looks like my survival is your survival. And hers.”

“Yeah, that ‘shit’ is my brother and millions of lives and your sanity and Rachel’s—”

He trailed off as she moaned between them, stirring. She didn’t open her eyes at first, only knotted her brow.

“Rache?”

Her blue eyes flew open and both tried to stop her as she jolted upright, the handcuffs pulling their arms along for the ride whether they wanted to or not.

“What the hell—”

Miles’ hand found the small of her back and tried to help support her, while Bass caught the wrist attached to him, so she wouldn’t chafe it against the metal.

“Careful,” Bass warned, “we’re handcuffed together.”

She stopped moving, and the two men watched her scan the clearing.

“I noticed,” she responded. She made a small noise in her throat and Miles realized that she was laughing, cold and bitter and disbelieving. “What the _hell._ ”

Miles tried to rub her back assuredly. “We’re not sure what to do, but we’ll make a plan and get out of this.”

He caught Bass’ gaze across Rachel and tried to forget the skeptical look he saw there.

“Of course we will,” she stated.

She was standing up, forcefully, dragging the two men to their feet. Miles protested, but she was already moving towards the tree line.

“Rachel—slow down. What—”

“I’m not holding out on either of you to get us of this. And him—” Fire and rage broke through her careful façade as she halted and whipped her head to Bass. “Him I want dead. So I’m hiking through this forest until I find another living soul and if you resist, so help me I will drag your dead bodies along with me until I find a pair of bolt cutters myself.”

Miles and Bass both knew that sheer will burned through Rachel, but physically she was no match for the two of them. Miles caught her, wrapping an arm around her struggling frame and Bass did the same, stopping her before she made it very far.

“Miles—goddammit, let me go!”

“You’re not going anywhere without us and by that I literally mean you are not going anywhere without us.”

Bass began, “Rachel—”

Her elbow made contact with his stomach. Miles managed to secure both her arms, as Bass recovered quickly. She pushed against Miles, but all three were too twisted together to untangle at the mercy of a single violent motion.

“Rachel,” Bass tried again, “And Miles.” He found eye contact with his friend, the glare both terrifying and provoking him. “The only way to get out of this is together. I know you both hate me, but believe it or not, I don’t want either of you dead.”

“History says otherwise,” Rachel spat at him.

“Yeah, well maybe you can’t explain yourself in a single motive, either.” Bass’ voice crept louder and faster. “Maybe even you realize that sometimes you’re in over your head and say things you don’t mean. Or stab people with screwdrivers who you really don’t mean to stab!”

“Shut up!” Miles had known that the hatred would emerge before long and paralyze them. “We need to find food and shelter, right now. We can all do couples’ counseling later.” He took a deep breath. “Rachel, I’m going to release you, but I need you to promise not to lash out at us again.”

“Only if you promise not to torture me.” Her eyes narrowed and flicked towards him. “Again, I mean.”

Miles let her land the moment. He and Bass at least deserved to be accosted with that truth.

“I just mean that if one of us gets injured,” he continued, “none of us will be moving very quickly. We can’t afford that.”

Rachel huffed in frustration, unable to disagree on that point. Miles felt her push away from them and Bass helped her straighten herself out, although every time she shied away from his hands it only twisted her up further. When she was finally free, they realized the sloppy job that had been done with handcuffing them together; Bass and Rachel were facing the same direction, but Miles had been turned around and had to awkwardly cross his arm over his body to turn towards them.

“I’m not following Bass,” she clarified, as they began to drift as a group towards the tree line.

“I’ll take lead,” Miles said. He squatted near a trampled bush. “Besides, whoever dragged us out here was clumsy. I can tell that they came from this direction. That’s probably the way we’ll find civilization.”

He looked up to Rachel, and all he could see were stormy eyes. He recognized her joint expression of apprehension and defiance from moments he was ashamed to remember.

Still, she cocked her head at him.

“You track?”

“I may have picked some things up from Charlie. I suck compared to her.”

Rachel nodded and Bass thankfully kept his mouth shut. They seemed to have reached a manageable plan and cautiously Miles began to move into the dark forest. His arm was twisted behind him, which made their going slow, stumbling over damp tree roots from the mossy trees towering over head. Rachel struggled the most, her balance thrown off by two trapped hands and occasionally she would slide back into Bass as they scaled shallow but still rocky inclines.

Only once did she bring Miles down with her too, all three tumbling a few feet into a clump of ferns, dirt smearing across clothes and limbs, and leaves flying into hair and mouths. Bass rolled his eyes in apathy, and Rachel simultaneously looked like she was embarrassed and was about to land some choice words, but Miles was distracted by the beads of blood along his wrist. The cuffs had been cinched tight, and the chafing had finally broken the skin.

He couldn’t see Bass’, but he caught Rachel’s hand in his. He was so absorbed in the damage that had been done there that he didn’t notice her mouth fall open in protest.

“I won’t break, Miles. We need to keep moving.”

She was right, as the world had begun to tint orange as the sun fell. They resumed their journey, moving more quickly, having fallen into a rhythm and with the threat of night at their heels.

The trail ended at a river, lazy, wide and deep.

“Dammit,” Miles swore, “Dammitdammitdammit…”

“We were probably brought in by boat,” Bass supplied.

Rachel spoke the unspoken.

“We could be a hell of a lot further out than we thought.” She swallowed nervously and Miles didn’t miss it. “We can’t go any further tonight. We’ll probably end up falling off a cliff or drowning.”

“Or falling off a cliff and _then_ drowning.”

Miles was too tired to entertain Bass’ wit at the moment, as exhaustion had seized at him now that they had stopped hiking. He was thankful when the man moved them back from the rushing water, careful along the smooth river rocks on the bank as he headed to a nice clump of trees and bushes.

Bass dropped to his knees and slowly inched through the underbrush, finding a space just large enough for the three hidden by the leaves and sheltered by the branches of the trees overhead.  He turned to pull Rachel in after him, followed by the tired Miles.

“Good choice,” Rachel muttered, “Some protection from the elements and we’re out of sight.”

Miles made an unintelligible noise in agreement and felt Rachel’s hands around his arms and waist, felt his aching body being pushed in one way or another. She had repositioned them so he was almost spooning her, her back and butt and head tucked comfortably again him. He heard Bass shift and could almost see him in the dark beyond Rachel. He hadn’t kept his distance and the last part of Miles that was resisting sleep wanted to make sure that she was alright with this, but then again, another part wearily protested, what other choice did they have.

It would get colder too. If they kept Rachel warm at least they were good for something.

Her handcuffed arm lay across his, both draped around her waist, and as he sunk into the warmth of her back, consumed by sleep, he realized that she’d interlocked her fingers with his.


	2. Rachel

Rachel woke to her stomach growling against Miles’ hand. She felt damp, and not at all well rested, and realized that a sharp rock had been awkwardly under her hip all night. Her knitted shirt was soaked with morning dew; it was unfair that the boys had jackets on and she was left feeling bare and exposed in a thin layer of cotton.

Miles was still asleep behind her, judging from the steady shallow breaths fluttering wisps of curly hair across her cheek. Bass’ eyes were closed, but she was sure he was awake; she had felt him flinch away when their handcuffed hands had brushed while she was waking. He had reclined on his back the night before, as close as possible to her to lessen the strain on their connected limbs, leaving a buffer of air between them. Rachel almost wanted the warmth more than she cared who he was, but it wouldn’t help either of them and might even have led to Bass’ castration had he woken up, like Miles was now, with his morning wood pressed up against her.

Sometimes Miles was such an overgrown boy, curled up and lost in a world more arousing than this one, while she couldn’t even get her brain to settle enough to enjoy the weight of him against her.

Rachel shivered involuntarily and as she had guessed, Bass’ eyes opened, both a brilliant blue in the morning sun. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice scratchy with sleep.

“Hungry and cold.” Her voice sounded smaller than she wanted it to. She didn’t want to show weakness to him, but they were all lost now, taken down a few notches simply by the unrelenting presence of the others and their absurd situation.

On cue, her stomach grumbled again.

“Why don’t you wake Sleeping Beauty over there and we can find some food?” Bass told her.

Rachel rolled over, but she was caught, one hand entwined with Miles and the other still near Bass, her shoulder twisting back as their limbs each met resistance.

“My arm doesn’t go that way, Rachel,” Bass protested. Instead he turned her towards him and propped himself up on the arm attached to her, reaching his free arm across her to prod Miles.

Miles grumbled into Rachel’s back.

“Miles,” she snapped, and he tried to turn over, disturbing their crude equilibrium.

“Miles!” This time it was Bass, louder and sharper, his arm gripping Miles’ shoulder and pulling him upright so he wouldn’t keep turning and thus yank Rachel’s arm out of its socket.

 Miles seemed to finally realize what was happening, but he still buried his face into Rachel’s shoulder in protest.

“I was dreaming, you dick.”

“Yeah we know,” she responded coldly, brushing intentionally against his crotch as she nudged Bass out of their little shelter.  As she turned back to look at Miles, his eyes were still drowsy and his dark hair was sticking up at all angles. She wanted to reach back and smack him across it, partially to loosen the dirt still stuck there from yesterday and also simply to smack him.

She realized that she was hungrier than she thought; she was irritable and could tell exactly how little patience she had. 

“Want to try and catch a fish?” Bass collected himself and stared out at the water. It was prettier now than it had been in the dark, the clear, fresh water sparkling in the sunlight. Looking past the emerald green tree tops, it seemed like they were in a shallow valley, with hills that were not quite mountains peeking out from beyond.

Rachel jumped at Miles’ hand on her skin. He looked more cognizant, and had wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. She was still shivering.

“We should keep moving,” she said, “We’ll find breakfast on the way. It’ll warm up.”

“Do you have any idea what plants are edible?” Miles asked.

Rachel shrugged unhelpfully. “I’ve spent most of the Blackout locked inside.”

“I know a few options,” Bass offered, before finding Miles’ squinting and worried eyes across Rachel, “We’ll keep her in the sun, Miles. She’ll dry off.”

She was too hungry to protest but it ticked her off when they did this; talked about her like she wasn’t there. She resented needing their protection, especially after what they’d done to her. Yet here she was, where she couldn’t turn or speak or think without running into them. The hopeless clawed at her and she found herself blinking back tears. She was just starving and tired, she told herself, that was why she found this situation so difficult to manage.

“Rachel?”

Miles’ voice brought her back.

“What?”

“We just said that we’re going to follow the river downstream. We think going back upstream will just take us further into the hills. That okay?”

“Works for me,” she managed to get out without betraying her emotions.

The bank was wide enough that they could work their way across it as equals, without one of them leading. Rachel felt every step though, her muscles sore from the trek the day before and a night of sleeping on the ground. After what she guessed was an hour, they finally turned the corner to find the vegetation line filled with prickly blackberry bushes, the late summer sun having ripened most of the berries dark and juicy.

Rachel reached them only a hair ahead of Miles and Bass, yanking a handful off one by one and shoving them into her mouth, dragging Bass’ arm along for the ride. A few were still a bit tart, but most were sweet and full.

“Hey, slow down.” Miles stole some out of her hand, before picking a few for himself.  

Bass grabbed a few, putting half in his pocket and only eating one or two.

“Can I see if I can catch some fish?” he asked, “We should get protein too, not just sugar…”

“Yes, mom,” Miles brushed him off, distracted by the berries.

With something at least in her stomach and the heavenly squish of blackberries against her tongue, the world started to feel less painful and more surreal. She and Miles continuing picking, reaching over each other and trying not to get tangled up, as they alternated eating them and storing them in loose pockets and cupped shirts. Bass had ventured just far enough to reach a stray branch and had broken the tip, and he worked at making it as sharp as possible.

When they were finished, they shifted over to the glistening water. Miles dropped their berries in a small eroded bowl in a rock and tried to figure out a system to save them for later. Rachel perched as close to the edge as possible while Bass kicked off his shoes and waded in, stretching Rachel’s arm across the water.

Rachel finally felt the warmth of the sun begin to dry her, and although her position was uncomfortable and the situation strange beyond belief, she let the hope begin the creep into her. They could make it out of this.

Bass’ plan had been better than they had given him credit for. He’d chosen a shallow pool with only one exit; once a fish had entered, it was easy prey even with his crude tool. His total catch came to three fish by the end, and one close struggle which had nearly dragged Rachel into the water and had earned him a blackberry stain on the cheek from Miles pelting them at him in punishment.

Rachel wanted to laugh, as they roughly gutted the fish with the semi-sharp stick and separated meat from carcass. She was having picnic of fish and berries on a beautiful day by the side of a pristine river, handcuffed to two men who had more or less knocked down the remaining walls of her ruined life.

They ate in silence, which she was thankful for. She was always impressed by how intuitively they moved together, but she hadn’t realized that by now _she_ knew their patterns and quirks as well as they knew each other. As they packed up extra berries in articles of clothing that they could bear to part with, barely even speaking, she was glad that they left how she had learned so much in silence, just letting her fall into an easy rhythm with them.

They continued their trek, occasionally having to scramble away from the river when it changed direction and the plain of rocks morphed into an impassable cut bank. Conversation passed between them, but never with all three: a bit about some campaign here and there between Miles and Bass, or a snarky comment from Rachel to Miles with an even snakier reply.

As the lazy afternoon drifted by, Rachel spoke to all of them.

“Any guesses yet on who did this? And how?”

“Patriot bastards would be my guess,” Miles added, “How? I have no clue. Who would want us dead?”

“Gee, I wonder, Miles.” Bass stumbled a bit after his comment, Rachel catching him, hand wrapped tightly around his forearm.

“Fine, who would want Rachel dead then?”

Rachel smiled a touch. “I’m not very popular.” She swallowed sharply, remembering the flood of adrenaline and confusion as she shoved a hunting knife into the stomach of her best high school friend. “And even if I am, I’m still a bit of a liability.”

Rachel felt Miles lean into her, but she couldn’t tell if it was him avoided a rock or making a meager gesture of comfort.

“As for how,” she continued, “I would guess that we’re in Colorado from the trees and terrain.”

“That doesn’t explain the how,” Bass prompted.

“Well, boat part of the way at least. But for the rest? Wagon? Over unmaintained roads, that’s at least a month, maybe two. Assuming we’re in the south portion of the state too.” Rachel continued to think out loud. “But we couldn’t have been continuously drugged for that long. I’d guess we were out for a few days, definitely under a week. But even then I’d have expected at least one of us to have woken up accidently. Even trained doctors can’t be that precise with the stuff available.”

“Alright, enough with the guessing,” Bass cut in, “Anything we know for certain? Any way we can tell exactly how long?”

“I’d say the stars. Didn’t they teach you celestial navigation in Marine basic training?”

“That’s the Navy,” Miles said, unamused.

“I’m joking.” She focused on her feet, mapping out a path through the next few meters in her head.

The next few bends were completed in silence.

“It’s such an inefficient way to kill us,” she mused.

The boys nodded their heads in agreement. More silence followed.

“Wait,” Bass stopped suddenly, and they halted like a lethargic slinky, the cuffs pulling against Rachel’s bruised and bloody wrist and then against Miles’.

He pointed with his free hand across the water. It looked like a clearing beyond the foliage on the other side—a long, continuous clearing with black asphalt base.

“It’s a road,” Miles clarified.

“Let’s keep going until we can cross,” Rachel said.

They kept moving, until the river grew wider and thus shallower and the deepest section looked at about their knees. Bass headed towards the water, but Rachel stopped him, planting her behind on a large boulder.

“What?” he asked, as she began to strip off her boots and socks.

“We’ll still have to walk once we hit the road and I don’t want my shoes all soggy.”

Bass rolled his eyes, but they both sat to join to her, wincing as calloused feet were freed and folding their pants up to the knees. When their small train finally began to cross the water, shoes and leftover food in hand, they moved cautiously across the rippling current.

“If you slip, Rachel, and take us down with you again,” Bass warned, “Then so help me…”

Miles kicked a tactful and well-aimed splash at him. “Shut up.”

“If I fall, then consider it a bath,” she replied, “You both reek.”

“You don’t smell so sweet yourself, princess.”

“She’s still better than you, Bass. You smell like fish and B.O. She smells like blackberries and pine trees.”

Miles seemed to immediately regret saying it. He fell quiet, his small movements becoming very deliberate. That didn’t stop Rachel from whipping her head and hair around and giving Bass a small smirk of triumph. Bass’ scowl suddenly released, and he gave a loud laugh, the rare sound of which startled Miles, who stumbled forward.

Rachel caught him, wrapping her arm around his and helping him gently to his feet.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Her tone became motherly. “Let’s stop before someone gets hurt.”

They were almost across, and then they were, and all three sat in silence on the rocks, wiping off as much water as they could before putting their shoes back on over damp feet.

The afternoon had passed quickly and they had not gone very far down the cracked and overgrown road when the sky began to grow warm with the dim, rosy light from the setting sun. They shuffled along together, hastening as it grew darker; there was no easy cover in sight and no plan after night fell. At least the road was easier to traverse than the river bank.

Finally, not long after the sun had dipped behind the steep hills and uneven treetops, they rounded a bend to find a dark shape a few meters or so down the road. As they approached, a sign still hung from rusty hooks reading “Twin Lakes Lodge” in the neat white lettering remembered from distant camping trips. Lodge was a bit of a misnomer, Rachel thought, as it looked more like a two story log cabin with a shed and outhouse.

The door swung open into the dark, and except for a few dead leaves and some cobwebs, the site was abandoned and long out of use. It was perfect for them, though, as it had the basics, a roof and walls, in addition to an open common space and kitchen with a fireplace, and, thankfully, the upstairs bedrooms yielded comfortable if creaky beds.

They searched first for tools of any kind, but with the light gone, determining the usefulness of anything was difficult.

“I just want these damn cuffs off,” Miles finally spat out, exasperated, after they’d poked around in the shed and only succeeded in knocking stuff over. Rachel sighed in agreement against his shoulder. He was warm and soft and she thought of the beds waiting upstairs. She could survive one more night sandwiched between them.

They found no food, no matches or a flint and nothing that could be used to break metal bonds between them. Rachel followed the two men back to the main house, surprised at how leaden her feet felt. The boots had probably started to rub her feet bloody she guessed as she shut the heavy wooden door. A hand wrapped itself around hers and maybe it was on the wrong side, but it pulled her upstairs again, towards sleep.

Miles or Bass—she couldn’t tell—chose the bedroom with the larger bed. As they sunk into it, she wanted to just fall back and finally rest, but the last ounce of propriety she had caused her to tangle her hands with theirs yet again to yank boots off sweaty feet. The backs of her ankles and the pads of her feet were raw, bloodier than theirs and they stung a bit against the scratchy, unwashed blanket on the bed.

“Ow,” she heard leave her lips. 

A heavy weight around her waist brought her lying down. She focused with too much effort on the wooden ceiling above, then Bass’ unreadable grimace as his pulled a blanket over them, and finally the soft, undulating pillow of Miles’ side.


	3. Bass

He was awake before them again, but that wasn’t quite true, as he had never really fallen into a continuous sleep. Sleeping was difficult for him, and why wasn’t too difficult to figure out. Miles could nap anywhere, but Bass needed somewhere safe, where he knew that the ones he loved were safe, and that hadn’t come in a long time.

His body was used to physical exhaustion followed by little rest, which was a good thing as these idiots left no one to stand guard. If they didn’t have more serious problems on their plate, he would have used their carelessness to prod them both relentlessly. But the reality was that he didn’t really mind.

With a warm glow streaming through disintegrating cream curtains, their unconscious existence made him feel less alone. Rachel’s wrist connected to his had crossed over her stomach sometime in the night, and he let his hand float up and down with her steady breaths. He watched Miles, who made weird faces occasionally but otherwise slept like a brick next to restless Rachel. He never got to simply exist with people anymore; everyone who shared a room with him was either fearing or judging.  

If he could, he would keep them here in this moment. But they needed to eat, to live and survive and be free. His life lesson on why you couldn’t keep the things you loved in cages snored gently next to him.

He wondered who would wake first; Miles looked more out of it, but they nearly had to carry Rachel to bed the night before.

Sure enough, Miles’ eyes groggily opened before Rachel’s, squinting in the sun as he took in Bass. He shifted, careful not to disturb the sleeping figure beside him.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Miles didn’t respond.

He only rolled onto his side and examined the cuffs linking him and Rachel. Bass watched him trace her wrist gently, pushing the metal up and picking quietly at dried blood to see the damage done there. Still in silence, Miles drew his fingers in the opposite direction, his calloused pads tracing the faint line Bass could barely see on her wrist.

She had tried to kill herself. Charlie had told him on the way to Willoughby and he had scoffed, but even as part of him went unsurprised, another part claimed responsibility.

He cleared his throat at Miles before saying, “You’ve never asked about her.”

“What?”

“You call me a monster, which I am.” Miles eyes began to roll, but Bass wouldn’t let him dodge this bullet with a sarcastic quip. “You blame me for everything the Militia became—”

“No, I don’t, Bass—”

“I’m not finished. What I’m saying is that you don’t have a problem calling me out. Which is fine, it hurts but I suppose I deserve it. But all these times we’ve talked about the past, about the Republic, you won’t ask about her. About our four years together.”

Miles averted his eyes, locking them on Rachel tucked beside him.

“Why are you asking this now?”

“Since we’re probably going to be free soon. But right now you have me and I have you and neither of us can run. So ask.”

He still wouldn’t make eye contact.

“I found her over Strausser’s dead body,” Miles began quietly, “and when I asked if you hurt her, she wouldn’t respond. I know enough without the details, Bass.” He lifted dark pools of chocolate to meet him. “Besides, I want to hear them from her, when she’s ready. Not you.”

It was cold statement, and it bit through Bass’ contentment with the hazy morning.  He felt the rage and injury begin to seep through, and had always hated how it made it feel out of control. Bass reached his free hand towards Rachel’s fanned out hair.

Miles bolted upright and caught Bass, who resisted with an angry grunt and pushed towards Miles. Rachel tossed on the bed and then her blue eyes flew open, as she scrambled to sit up and wake up.

“What the hell,” she rasped out with a voice still hoarse from sleep.

Miles recoiled as soon as he seemed to remember that she was between them, but Bass’ arm kept moving forward his hand made brutal contact with Miles’ face. Miles tumbled backwards off the bed, pulling Rachel and Bass with him. The ground was hard on Bass’ worn muscles, although he mostly landed on top of the soft cushion of Rachel, and Miles took the brunt of the fall.

Suddenly, Bass had a face full of white fluff, and as it receded he managed to glimpse blonde curls before the fluff made contact again.

Rachel was smacking him forcefully with a pillow.

“You. Two. Are. Asses!” She alternated each hit between the boys.

Bass tried to pick out some escaped feathers from his mouth, staring in disbelief at the bruised Miles across from him.

“I don’t give a crap if you argue but you can’t beat each other up! You’ll rip me in two!” She pulled herself with difficulty to her feet and helped Miles up, hands finding the injury on his face. Her shoulders tensed, her voice laced with frustration. “Or maybe you’ve already done that. You—asses.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

Bass couldn’t tell if she was crying, but Miles’ focus was locked solely on her face. If she wasn’t then she was close to, and shame seized at Bass. He could handle a lot from Rachel, but he always knew he struck deep if she responded with tears. Rachel could fake a lot of things, but not that.

But then Miles was kissing her, hands on each side of her head, and Rachel was responding eagerly. They were freaking teenagers, Bass thought, angry to horny in point five seconds.

He missed that.

Rachel’s hand rose to the back of Miles’ neck, the hand which Bass’ hand was firmly secured to, and he found his disinterested limb stuck awkwardly in the middle of their make out session.

“Oh, that's great, guys.” When they didn’t respond he hesitated for moment. If he pulled them apart then he’d probably be strangled where he stood. He elected for a simple solution, flicking Rachel on the cheek. He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t choose Miles; probably because it wouldn’t have made a difference to him.

Rachel noticed though, breaking away to turn watery eyes—he was right—and pink, wet lips towards him.

“Not helpful,” he chastised.

Bass thought that she meant to throw him a mean look because her eyes narrowed slightly, but he instead decided that she was just a little lost.

“Maybe we shouldn’t take the damn cuffs off,” he commented, “You two will start screwing like mice.”

“Pretty sure it’s rabbits, Bass,” Miles corrected, irritated.

“He’s right.” Rachel let her hands fall from Miles, who was struggling to tear his hands away from her. “We should find food and get these stupid things off.”

She reached for her shoes beside the bed, pacifying Miles with a light kiss, and started towards the door, plodding barefoot into the hall. They both had no choice but to follow her.

“Yeah, not exactly what I was saying,” Bass told her, as they stomped down the stairs.

The spacious downstairs room was brighter in the morning sun. Dust filled the air, particles drifting lazy in the light. Bass wanted food, but all they had were some left over berries. It was easier now to search the kitchen though, and they took some more time to shift through the cupboards and pantry. He noticed Rachel and Miles finding more excuses to touch each other, rubbing shoulders, Rachel practically in his lap, as they reached back into a dark cupboard.

The crinkle of a wrapper caught Bass’ attention and he turned to discover Miles and Rachel clutching two food bars.

“Hey Bass, want a Millennium bar?” Miles chucked one at him and Bass fumbled to catch it. “It only expired five years ago…”

Rachel took the other bar from Miles, leaning back against Miles and examining what she could make out on the packaging.

“I mean, there’s nothing that would really go bad in these,” she said, “Unless they’ve started growing mold. It’s pretty cool and dry here though.” She shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” She ripped the package and brought out a brown looking mass of starch and protein, which once may have had a fake icing on it. She sniffed it. “Just looks a little dry and stale.”

Bass looked down at his, before glancing back at the other two. “You sure?”

Miles reached over and took it from Rachel’s hands. “I’ll go first, and we can see if I drop dead.” He took good sized bite and chewed slowly, scrunching his nose up in an expression of disgust. “Yeah, that’s pretty nasty.” He swallowed, and waited a few moments in fake anticipation, two bright blue eyes watching him. “Well, I’m still alive. Eat up, kids.”

Bass figured that if it killed them, it was probably long overdue anyway. Besides, the history books would have fun with that one—President of the Monroe Republic met his final foe in an energy bar gone bad, accompanied in his less than honorable death by his two best friends, also known as his partner in crime and former prisoner. 

At least if he went, they’d be going too.

They ate in silence, forcing down the tasteless and chewy mush as they stood awkwardly in the kitchen.  When they had finished, Rachel led again, forcing them to squeeze aching feet into cramped shoes so that they could venture back out to the shed.

“This whole bonding by handcuffs thing is cute,” she declared plainly, “But I’m done with it.”

Their search was far more fruitful in the daylight, turning up a spool of wire small enough to pick the lock within minutes. Miles separated Bass and Rachel first, the cuffs finally unlocking with a satisfying click. Bass massaged his wrist as Miles separated him and Rachel. The damage was not bad at all, and as Bass left them to wander outside, he felt freer, although a little odd.

They had been connected for a good amount of time, and the missing weight of Rachel’s arm against him made him feel light and empty. Still, he enjoyed the new sensation of being alone.

Rachel and Miles emerged from the shed after a few moments, Miles’ hair noticeably mussed. He figured that they had finished whatever they had started earlier that morning. He tried to give them a suggestive smirk.

They both walked right past him though.

“Hey!” He followed their silence into the lodge. “What are we doing next? We should head out soon...”

Rachel still refused to acknowledge him as she flung open a cabinet and brought out two canteens that they had found earlier, brushing a cloud of dust off of them.

“I don’t know,” she spoke with little interest, “Do what you want, Bass.”

He looked to Miles, who simply shrugged too.

“What do mean, do what I want?” he asked both of them, “We’re still not out of this yet.”

“No, we’re not, but we’re free from you.” Rachel grabbed the canteens and turned forcefully towards the door. She was out it before Bass could say anything, heading across the road to the river beyond to fill it up.

“Rachel, wait—” Bass was through the door next and Miles a few steps behind.

“You can find your way back to Texas on your own,” she called back across the road, refusing to slow her pace.

“You can’t—” Bass told her. She stopped and whirled to face him.

“And why can’t I? None of us owe you any damn thing and even you aren’t so self-centered to think that we _need_ you to get out of here. So, leave us alone.”

“You can’t go.”

“Why not?”

Screw it, he had to tell them. “You can’t go because it was your dad.”

Rachel stood frozen, blue eyes wide in the sunlight.

“What?” Miles’ voice came from behind, pointed and accusatory.

“When we were being transported here, I saw Gene. It was him and some Patriots in uniform.”

“You were awake,” Miles stepped into his face, teeth gritted and noses almost touching, “and you didn’t tell us.”

“Only for a little while. Enough to see her traitor dad drop us off in the middle of nowhere to die.” He looked past Miles to find Rachel's gaze.

She blinked slowly at him and then turned away, her tone cold and steady. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, Rachel. Not this time. You guys didn’t need to know until we got closer, otherwise this"--he gestured to indicate the argument--"would have happened and we never would have made it out.”

“Then tell me why,” she demanded.

“I don’t know.” He paused before sharing what he had figured out a long time ago. “The only person he would care about more than you is Charlie.”

The name seemed an anchor to Rachel, and suddenly she was back.

“He’s betrayed us before. It makes sense,” she said with an acceptance that Bass saw almost broke Miles, judging by the pain that flashed across his face. “I hate that it makes sense.”

“But Charlie—”

Bass watched a silent look of fear and understanding between the two, an exchange lasting no more than a few seconds. They were more connected than he gave Miles’ puppy love and Rachel’s enigmatic nature credit for.

“He’d only do this if she were in trouble,” Rachel finished for Miles.

“Now, you might not _need_ me,” he announced, trying not to sound to triumphant, “but it sounds like you might want my help when we get back.”

They both turned to look at him, their expressions laced with utter spite, but Bass knew that they hated him because he was right. Rachel approached him slowly and deliberately, making sure that he knew exactly how she felt about his company.

“We leave in an hour,” she spat into his face, before turning back in the direction of the river.

As she walked away, Bass turned to find Miles. Miles raised his fist and gave him a rude shove in the shoulder; it was so Miles, so juvenile.

“Don’t keep information from me again,” he warned, “Remember we don’t have to stay with you now.”

Bass watched Miles disappear after Rachel. He hoped that Rachel would take not long with the water and prayed that Miles wouldn’t take the opportunity for a booty call. He fully intended to pester them about the kiss the entire journey home.

He realized how wrong he was when he heard the unmistakable sound of a breathy sob from beyond the trees, followed the heart wrenching sound of Rachel crying, underscored by Miles’ scratchy, hushed voice. Bass felt guilt curl in his stomach. He had dropped the bombshell for his own means, forgetting that it meant ripping another thing away from Rachel.

If he tried, he could sympathize, remembering how it felt to loose every support system he had known.

Bass thought briefly about going to them, wondering if any apology he could make or comfort he could offer could lessen the blow. Maybe in her despair she'd let him brush away her tears with a gentle touch, the supporting weight of Miles' hand thankful on his shoulder. They might find him useful, not just for murder, but for help against the crisp breeze and biting truth. But Miles was there already, offering bumbling assurance, and it was too late for him to be part of that.

He turned back to the lodge. He'd make himself useful by looking for more supplies, perhaps a weapon.

There was still a long road back to civilization.


End file.
